


Mind Your Head, I've Lost My Mind

by thegreatestsun



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Conner is an ANXIOUS BOY, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I don't think it's that graphic but apparently i'm desensitised?? wack, It's really just the two boys trying their best, Kon is KON-stently filled with fear and dread, Kon-El | Conner Kent is Superboy, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, So much comfort, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Unbetaed we die like men, a little blood, probably a bit ooc but who cares i had fun, so is jon, two superboys lets go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatestsun/pseuds/thegreatestsun
Summary: Conner's been having a rough time lately, specifically with his anxiety.Tim's helping.-----Alternatively titled 'Conner Deals With Anxiety And Also Tim Is The Best'
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 17
Kudos: 228





	Mind Your Head, I've Lost My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to my first attempt to write angst 
> 
> Okay so real quick I do wanna throw in some trigger warnings because you can never be too careful! There's a lot of self deprecating language in here, descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, and mentions and descriptions of blood. Kon also does get genuinely triggered into a panic attack at one point so if you think this will affect you please read with caution! Just want y'all to be safe <3
> 
> Also I was listening to John Mulaney as I wrote this, and the name of the word doc is 'owo what's this' so you can take that cursed information and do what you want with it.
> 
> Conner has his punk design in this fic because I cannot physically create content about him without it

Conner woke up gasping, hands clawing at his bedsheets, he’s too warm, too constrained, too – too – 

He sucked in air and tried to regulate his breathing. It was a nightmare, just a stupid nightmare. He’s fine. He’s home, in his bed, in Smallville, and far, _far_ away from that oversized test tube. He groaned as a memory of the dream rose to the surface of his mind, like trash floating on the scummy surface of a river. Murky green liquid, shadows on the other side of the glass, his lungs screaming as he breathed air, _real_ air, for the first time…

Conner rolled onto his side, grabbed his pillow from under his head, pressed his face into it, and let out a low groan. He hadn’t had a nightmare in a while, and he could still feel the panic in his bones, the panic that made him feel hollow and small. He couldn’t stand feeling like that. And he shouldn’t feel like that. He was Superboy, Conner Kent, Kon-El. He wasn’t meant to get scared, especially not about something as small as a nightmare, of all things. He was honestly a little surprised he wasn’t fucking programmed to not feel fear. 

A rooster crowed loudly from outside. Kon, still slow from sleep, reluctantly dragged his blankets off of himself, and sat up slowly. There was a faint, golden light painting the underside of his curtains, and against the ceiling. Huh, the sun was rising.

He was still tired, and his heart still hadn’t quite gotten the message that the nightmare was over. He ran his hand through his hair, and down his face. He felt… well, he felt like shit. But he still had chores to do, and Ma and Pa weren’t going to wait around for him. Plus, he knew if he finished everything early, he’d be allowed to zoom off and find Tim, or Cassie, or Bart. Or all three of them, if he was lucky.

And with that slightly comforting thought in his head, Conner stood up, and floated off to the bathroom. 

…

_There’s kryptonite in him. He can feel it, it’s somewhere in his back. He panted uselessly against his arm, holding back the rolling nausea, biting down on the leather of his sleeve to keep in the pathetic whimper resting in the back of his throat. He could **feel** it, swirling through his blood, creeping up through his veins, making everything at the edges of his vision blur black and green._

_It was poisoning him, he knew. He had to roll over, reach back, claw it out, use what little of his telekinesis he could cling onto. But he couldn’t – his arms wouldn’t respond, and his vision swam, and when he tried to use his TTK, it did nothing. He tried, oh how he **tried** to send it to the stupid green rock making the tan in his skin seep out into pale nothingness, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Kon was going to die like this, die pathetic and weak and useless like he always knew he was._

_He – he needed help. He needed help, or he was going to die. Conner tried to suck in air but his lungs wouldn’t respond, he tried to scream but his voice died, he tried, he tried, he tried, mumbling, begging, praying for someone to just **help him** – _

“–elp!” Conner yelled, sitting bolt upright, and blinking in confusion when he could see nothing. He rubbed his eyes, and realised it was just dark in his room. Then he felt incredibly stupid, for not realising that earlier. 

It took him a moment to remember where he was, which he then felt worse about. He was fine, he was at the Young Justice headquarters. Bart was sleeping in the room across the corridor, Cassie was right next door, and Tim was diagonal from him, next to Bart’s room. 

Tim… he’d still be awake. Maybe. What time even was it? Conner blindly reached out for his phone, and paused. 

His hand was shaking. _He_ was shaking. 

There was a quiet noise from outside his door, and Conner instinctively looked through it. X-Ray vision, what a blessing. Tim, speak of the devil, was standing outside his bedroom door, and looking unsure, his hand flat against the door. 

Tim inhaled gently, and said in a voice so soft that Kon needed to use his super hearing to distinguish the words properly, “Conner? You okay?”

And – and that, that made Kon feel weird. He simultaneously felt a rush of warm affection for Tim, who was so ready to jump out of bed at – he checked his phone – four-thirty-three in the morning to check he was okay, but he also felt kind of… ashamed. He felt ashamed. 

Tim might’ve been seconds away from _actually_ sleeping, or he’d already been sleeping, and Conner’s stupid nightmare made him yell like a kid – which wasn’t really fair because Conner never exactly got to _b_ _e_ a kid – and wake him up and _god_ he felt _awful_ about that and –

“Conner? I heard you yell. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Tim said, a little louder, but only just, and Conner realised he’d been rambling. But… with his thoughts. Weird. 

Kon pushed his blankets off, and stood up. He walked over to the door as quietly and as steadily as he could manage – Tim probably had some weird Bat training that could let him tell what emotion you were feeling literally just by the way you walked – and opened it. It was a little different seeing Tim right in front of him, in an old t-shirt and soft pyjama pants and – 

And Conner was shirtless. He and Tim seemingly realised this at the same time, as Tim’s heartrate kicked up, and Conner could feel the blush spread over his own face. 

“Uh, morning. I guess.” Conner said, looking away from Tim and flushing in… embarrassment. Yeah, definitely embarrassment. But why would he be embarrassed about being shirtless in front of Tim? It… it didn’t make any sense. 

Tim’s heart rate slowed back to what it was originally, and Conner didn’t know how to feel about that. Relieved? Upset? No, relieved. He shouldn’t be feeling upset about that. 

“I heard you yell. Are you okay, Kon?” Tim asked, his voice all gentle and soft and it kind of made Kon’s stomach lurch in a way he didn’t understand or particularly like. 

“I… uh, yeah. I’m fine. I just had a nightmare, s’all.” He said, feeling weirdly guilty. It wasn’t like he was _lying;_ he _did_ have a nightmare. But, well, he wasn’t fine. But Tim didn’t need to know that.

Tim’s eyes narrowed, and Conner realised that the soft light that was spilling into the corridor was coming from Tim’s room, and that he could see the open laptop on Tim’s bed, and that his screen was filled with a paused YouTube video, and it was _a_ _goddamn Superboy interview_. Not one of Jon’s, either. His. 

Kon felt himself flush a little darker, and was suddenly glad that Tim didn’t have the same kind of sight as he did. 

“I promise I’m fine.” Conner lied, hoping Tim would fall for it. He probably wouldn’t, freaky little genius, but Conner could hope. 

Tim frowned, chewed on his bottom lip, and glanced towards his bedroom door. “We could… watch a movie, or something. If you’re planning on staying up.” He offered. Conner mulled it over in his head. Sitting with Tim. On his bed. In the dark. Probably leaning against each other. Watching a movie.

His heart did a weird thing where it kind of… stopped? And then started again? But it was then suddenly so much _louder_ and it felt heavier in his chest and oh shit what if he’s about to have a heart attack? What if he’s literally about to die right in front of Tim, right here on the carpet?

“Kon?” Tim said, waving his hand in front of Kon’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” and he looks so _concerned_ that it made Kon want to retch.

He shook his head, and mumbled something about being tired, and tried to close the door, but Tim – little bastard – put his foot in the way and was staring up at Conner with all that determination he had when he was starting a new case, or rescuing someone from a villain. And, apparently, making sure Conner was okay. 

God-fucking-dammit. Why did he have to be so _noble?_ And – and good? Why was he like that?

“Conner, I could literally see you were about to have an anxiety attack. I’m not leaving you alone.” Tim said, sticking an arm out to hold the door open, and accidentally brushing his fingers along Conner’s bare ribs and that should not send sparks up his spine and set off fireworks in his chest. 

But the thought of trying to explain what was wrong, what stupid thing had gotten him so upset, showing just how _pathetic_ he was… no. “Tim, please, I just wanna go back to sleep –”

“I’ll sleep with you.” Tim said, like it was nothing. And Conner’s heart nearly exploded as Tim’s eyes widened and a light blush dusted his cheeks. “I mean – uh, I’ll keep you company, _no_ that sounds worse –”

Kon couldn’t help but laugh at Tim stumbling over his words. “No – no, I get it. I know what you mean.” He said, stepping back into the room. It’d honestly be easier to let Tim just… he didn’t know, letting him do whatever he insisted needed to be done. Tim was _shockingly_ stubborn when it came to, well, anything. “Go on, then. Take me to bed.” He joked, putting a flirtatious tone into his voice purposefully, forcing down the lingering anxiety. He read somewhere that smiling and laughing, even if you weren’t in a good mood, would make you a little happier. Worth a shot, right?

Tim flushed darker, and grabbed Conner by the arm. “Just lie down already. I’m not going to let you try and fall asleep alone after you’ve nearly had a damn anxiety attack.”

Even though his instincts told him to shake Tim off, insist he was fine, and then stay awake for the next two days in order to avoid the night terrors, he didn’t. He let himself be led to the bed, pushed down into the nest of pillows he’d compiled, and even let himself laugh a little as Tim arranged the blankets around him like Conner sometimes did with Jon when he was _really_ tired. When Tim was finally done fussing over him, he flopped down next to Kon – over the blankets, he noted sadly – and stretched like a cat. 

“Well? You’re not going to sleep if you don’t close your eyes.” Tim said, slightly teasing. Conner thought about it, and a sudden image of him waking up alone, no Tim in sight to battle off that rising fear, made it feel like a cold, heavy stone had dropped into his stomach. Tim had apparently picked up on that – was it something in his expression? – and reached over, and rested his hand on Conner’s arm, body heat bleeding through the sheets. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

“How’re you so good at this?” Conner asked sleepily, finally letting his eyes close. He felt exhaustion creeping in now, and almost missed Tim’s answer.

“You’re not the only one who gets nightmares, love.” Tim responded gently, his other hand straying to Kon’s hair, and fiddling with the ends gently. Kon felt his heart swell at the small endearment Tim used. Through the sleepy haze of his mind, he recalled that he used to tease Tim about it. Apparently, it was a British thing that he picked up from Alfred, and he’d use it by accident most of the time. This didn’t feel like an accident. 

He focused on Tim’s breathing, and let himself fall asleep. 

…

Conner splashed water in his face, and tried to not feel pathetic. He looked into the mirror, and almost wanted to gag. His hair had lost most of the bounce, and was now just falling over his face weakly. His eyes looked wild and sunken, and he knew that was from the lack of sleep. He looked smaller without his leather jacket, and he felt it. His earring flashed gold, and it looked garish against his pale skin. When the hell did he get so pale? 

Oh yeah, probably when he got so afraid over nothing that he vomited and curled up like a fucking child for nearly half an hour.

Fucking pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. 

He now knew, thanks to Tim, that when he completely lost his mind to panic and fear to the point where he couldn’t function – that was called a panic attack. Or an anxiety attack. He still wasn’t quite sure of the difference yet. All he knew about them was that they _s_ _ucked_ and that he got them at unreasonable times. 

It was reasonable to get anxiety attacks on missions and in fights. Kon still found it ridiculous that he’d get them – he was the muscle, the heavy hitter, he didn’t _need_ to worry – even in situations where it made sense. But this? This had no reason to send him hurtling away from the media room in the Young Justice headquarters, and into his bathroom so he could hold his head in his hands and desperately ignore everything his mind screamed at him. 

The four of them had been watching a movie, Tim was actually relaxing for once and even let Bart cling to him throughout most of it. Conner had been sat next to Cassie, for what he’d watched of it, and had been having a pretty good time. It was some zombie film he couldn’t remember the name of, but he knew that he was laughing at their attempts to gather supplies.

Until the main characters broke into a doctor’s surgery.

And – and it was so _st_ _upid,_ it was nothing like CADMUS, nothing at _all._ But of course, of course, seeing all that medical equipment against bright white surfaces, the surgery table ready and almost like it was _w_ _aiting for him_ – 

He made up something about needing to pee, and ran to his bathroom, and had a panic attack. It was stupid and pathetic and he felt _ridiculous_ and what kind of hero even _was_ he if he got terrified at the sight of a needle? It was stupid and he was stupid and he felt fucking _worthless_ – 

And he was spiralling again. He was spiralling, and his thoughts were swirling around his head and that awful nausea was back in his stomach and his throat _burned_ from the acidic memory of the taste of vomit and he couldn’t _breathe,_ why couldn’t he breathe!? He needed air, and he needed to just open his mouth and take breath in and _keep it there_ but nothing was responding like he wanted it to and _oh fuck_ what if he was being gassed? What if some villain had gassed all of Mount Justice and he was going to die choking on some mystery gas, unable to even go a rescue his friends that he _knew_ wouldn’t be able to get out and… and… 

He felt dizzy. Why did he feel dizzy?

A loud cracking noise, the feel of roughness under his hands. Conner blinked, and tried to clear his head, tried to focus on where he was. He’d… he’d broken his sink. He’d cracked the porcelain by gripping onto it too tight. He slowly took his hands away, and stared in mild, but quickly building, horror as the dust slipped off of his hands. 

A sudden knock at the door made him yell, and without even thinking, he ripped the door open, and grabbed whoever it was.

“Conner, _Kon_ , it’s me!” Tim said, writhing in his hold. He landed a kick at Kon’s shin, which didn’t hurt for obvious reasons, but upon seeing Tim’s eyes widen in fear, fear that _Conner_ _was_ _causing,_ he dropped him. To Conner’s horror, when Tim fell, he landed heavily. Conner was floating, and he’d dragged Tim up with him.

“Kon, are you –” Tim started, already getting to his feet, but he stopped when he saw Conner slowly floating downwards so that he could actually stand. “I’m sorry, Kon, I should’ve checked online before –”

“I’m _sorry._ ” Conner sobbed and now he was _crying,_ fuck, and he stumbled backwards, his back hitting the doorframe. He sank down, still trying to breathe, and scrambled away from Tim’s outstretched arm. He – he _hurt_ him, and it wasn’t him getting carried away, no, he’d _hurt Tim_. And Tim was going to hate him and call him a freak and an _abomination_ because even when being able to fly and crack a rock with one finger was fairly standard, he was still _out of place_. A mistake. _Wrong_ _._ An abomination that didn’t know how to _not_ hurt people – that’s all he ever did, he was awful and – “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tim, I – I’m so goddamn sorry –”

And then a gentle hand was cupping his face and he was being pulled into a hug. Tim had his arms around him, pressing Conner’s face into his shoulder and… and just, just holding him as Conner cried, soaking his sweater with tears. Guilt pooled in his stomach as he instinctively held on like a koala. And Tim was rocking him slightly, like he was a kid, and was stroking his hair and whispering comforting nothings in his ear.

He wanted to throw Tim off, tell him to fuck off and leave him alone…

No. He didn’t. He didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted Tim to stay with him and hold him together as he broke apart, and help him make his mind just _shut up_ for once.

He held on to Tim and tried to forget he’d thought of anything at all. 

What felt like days later, but was more like an hour or so, Conner was sat on one of the kitchen counters, holding a mug of tea, feeling guilty as Tim bustled around the kitchen, grabbing bowls and spoons and cereal. 

(“Why cereal?” “Dick and I used to eat it after bad nights, makes me feel better. Might work for you.”)

Kon could see the bruises forming on Tim’s arms. He felt sick. He’d caused that. Large, angry bruises where bruises shouldn’t be. On Tim’s arms, that always looked strong when he held things, when he picked things up, but always felt fragile to Conner. His hands shook, making small ripples in his tea. He stared down at it, not really knowing how to feel. Tim had grabbed his jacket from the media room couch, and put it loosely around his shoulders. Conner might’ve asked for it, he can’t remember. Either way, he was thankful for it. He ran his hand along the shoulders, the familiar spikes calming him slightly. 

Tim shoved a bowl of colourful, sugary cereal at him. Conner looked down at the bowl in surprise. Tim normally was the one who insisted they all at least tried to eat healthily, so this… was weird.

“Healthy comfort food doesn’t exist.” Tim explained with a shrug, picking up his own bowl. “Conner, I’m really sorry, we should’ve checked for some kind of medical scene before –”

“Not your fault.” Conner said quietly, putting his tea down on the counter beside him, and scooping up a spoonful of rainbow cereal. “It’s my fault, I mean, it’s not even similar. To what happened. I… I probably need some kind of training for that, huh?” He said, trying for a joke. When Tim didn’t react, he shrugged slightly, and actually tried the cereal. It was nice, really sweet, and even had marshmallows in. Definitely something Dick would eat.

Tim frowned at him, confused. But he was also a little… shocked, maybe? “Kon, it’s not your fault for getting triggered.” 

Conner swallowed. “Thought you said that slang term was, and this is a direct quote, offensive and discriminatory?” he said, trying to joke again. Why didn’t Tim get he was just trying to smile through it? It was _easier._ For everyone.

“No, I’m not using it as slang. Because I was right with that statement, but I mean it. As in a genuine mental health kind of way. You saw something that reminded you of your trauma, and it caused you to have a panic attack. That’s pretty much a textbook definition of being triggered.” Tim explained, stirring his cereal around, drowning a marshmallow in milk with his spoon. “We’ll be more careful with the next movie we watch, okay?” 

Kon looked down at his cereal, and nodded silently. 

Great. He got triggered. Genuinely, actually triggered. Over _m_ _edical imagery_ , of all things. 

No matter what Tim insisted, Conner thought that was… well. For anyone else, it’d make perfect sense, be completely understandable. But for him…

He was just really, really pathetic. 

…

The next time it happened, it was only him and Tim around. 

Tim wasn’t stupid. He knew something was going on, but Conner only wished that he was avoiding Tim for reasons unrelated to his stupid powers and his stupid anxiety and his _stupid_ inability to not _hurt_ the people he cared about. 

Oh yeah, That. Kon was avoiding Tim, and it was obvious. He didn’t stick around when Tim came into the room, he was making constant excuses to spend more time with Cassie and Bart, he lied and said he was spending more time with Jon than he actually was… but at least Krypto’s walks were getting longer. At least _someone_ was getting something out of all of this.

The problem was that Conner was scared. He was terrified out of his mind that he’d suddenly get an anxiety attack, and hurt Tim in a worse way than just bruises. He was losing sleep over it, but he felt that it was completely justified.

What if he held on to him and didn’t realise his own strength, and broke a bone? What if he freaked out and tried to push Tim away, and accidentally throw him into a wall? What if his heat vision kicked in and he burnt Tim? What if –

Kon was sat on the couch in the media room, he’d been on his phone looking at something, trying to not pass out, but it was laying forgotten as he dragged his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in the crook of his arm, and tried to focus on the smell of leather from his jacket. He – he couldn’t breathe, and everything was spinning – and he – he needed, he needed to breathe – but he couldn’t fucking – everything was spinning and he couldn’t tell up from down – 

He was weightless for a terrifying moment, and before Conner knew what was happening, his face was pressed against the rough carpet and he was staring up at the ceiling, and he really, _really_ couldn’t breathe and his heartbeat was so _d_ _amn loud_ – and his vision was all blurry and he was dying he had to be dying because he couldn’t fucking breathe and all he could think about was how he never got to apologise to Tim properly and how everyone would be so fucking disappointed and… and…

  
And…

…

Conner jolted awake, realising his sunglasses were digging into his face uncomfortably. What… what’d happened? The last thing he remembered was spiralling into an anxiety attack and then he was on the carpet, and then he woke up. Had he – oh, god, he hadn’t _fainted,_ had he?

There was a sudden loud bang, which made Conner flinch, and curl up slightly. He was still a little dizzy and disoriented, and if someone asked him where he was, he wasn’t entirely sure he could tell them. 

The door to the media room was flung open, and Tim rushed in. His eyes were wild, and he saw Conner’s crumpled form on the ground, and immediately went to him. Conner’s eyes widened, and that fear, that godawful fear, wrapped around his heart like a hand and squeezed like a vice. 

He began to pull himself off the floor as Tim began babbling and trying to help him. “Oh, god Kon, are you okay?! I was doing a security feed check and I saw you collapse and I thought there was kryptonite or something because you never collapse and –”

Conner realised with a sickening jolt that Tim had his arms around Conner’s arm, and was trying to lift him. Conner yanked his arm away, and lurched away like he’d been burnt. He got to his feet, and staggered, clutching his head. No, that’d been a terrible idea, he was still so dizzy. The floor whirled around manically under him as he tried to regain some semblance of balance.

“Kon? Conner, come on, you just fainted – come on, just sit down –” Tim tried to insist, but Kon ignored him, shaking his head, and stumbling away from him. He – he needed to get away, he couldn’t be around Tim, not when he was like this, he – he would – _fuck,_ he couldn’t think –

“Conner! For fuck’s sake – you just _fainted;_ you need to lie down!” Tim said, standing up and following him easily, which was completely unfair in Conner’s opinion. He shook his head and backed away, the world around him still spinning. “Conner, please, just let me help –”

“Get away!” Kon yelled, stumbling backwards. “Please – please just, get away – I’ll – I’ll hurt you –” his voice broke off in a dry sob, and fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he was crying. 

Tim stiffened. “Conner, what does that mean?”

Kon shook his head, and slid down the wall, hiding his face in his knees again. “If you – if you come near me, I’ll hurt you.” He explained shakily.

Tim didn’t move from where he stood. “Kon, do you mean that you’ll hurt me on purpose if I come near you?” he asked, his voice far too soft and far too kind for what he was asking. Conner raised his head, horror clear across his face. He didn’t care.

 _“What?_ No, no, no, no – I’ll hurt you on _accident.”_ Conner said, feeling guilt rise in his chest. Tim thought – Tim thought he was going – going to – 

He couldn’t even think about it without breaking into a small sob and hiding his face again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he _really_ fucked up this time. He didn’t even have to wonder what Tim thought of him now, he knew. He knew that Tim thought he was dangerous and unpredictable and disgusting and awful and a freak and a _fucking abomination_. 

He heard footsteps, and without hesitation, threw up his telekinesis, and the footsteps stopped. He was using it like a shield, he knew he was physically holding Tim away from him, but he didn’t care. If Tim got too close, he’d see that Conner was so much _worse_ than whatever he already thought of him. And he’d get hurt. Again. 

“Kon, I’m trying to help you.” Tim said, his voice all soft and gentle and it made Conner’s heart _ache_ to hear him like that. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You’re not fucking invincible, Tim!” Conner yelled. “You – you get hurt. _All t_ _he time_. You – you bleed and you bruise and you break and it’s fucking scary!” He explained, fighting off the tears in his voice. “And – and I hurt people all the time. By accident. I forget that other people get hurt all the time and then I hurt them.”

He inhaled shakily, and looked up. Tim was standing in the middle of the room, and he was… he was afraid. Conner could see it in his eyes and hear it in his heartbeat. He was afraid, but… but he wasn’t afraid _of_ Kon. 

He was afraid _for_ him. 

Kon pulled off his sunglasses, wiped at his eyes, and dropped the TTK. Tim didn’t move at first, as if he were worried that he’d spook Kon. But, slowly, he walked over to Kon, and sat next to him on the floor. He wasn’t touching him at all, just kind of… sitting. It was so little, but it made Conner feel a little more secure. 

“You okay with touch right now?” Tim asked, his voice weirdly loud to Conner’s ears in the silence of the media room. Conner shrugged, and sniffed. 

“I… Not really.” He said quietly. He knew that some people got sensory overload after or during panic attacks. He was pretty sure he didn’t, but Tim didn’t know that. And him double checking just in case was… well it was nice. And it made Kon’s chest feel all warm and shit.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Okay?” Tim said, after a while. Conner nodded mutely, and tried to breathe steadily as Tim disappeared off into the hallway, before returning with a glass of water, and a blanket. 

“What’s with the blanket?” Conner asked as he took the glass from Tim, voice husky and strained from crying. Tim shrugged, and shook it out. 

“Blankets make everything better.” He joked, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Tim didn’t often grin, not fully. He was the king of soft, small smiles and smirks. Tim draped the blanket around his shoulders, and tucked it in so it wouldn’t fall off. 

“We can sit here as long as you like, but I’m gonna make you lie down at some point.” Tim explained, settling himself next to Kon, a little closer now. If Conner reached out, even just the littlest bit, he could probably entangle his hand with Tim’s with little to no effort. 

“In here, or in my room?” he asked quietly, taking a sip of his water. It was really cold, but it was better that way. Gave him something to focus on. 

Tim shrugged. “Depends. You’d prefer your room?” 

Conner nodded, not looking away from his feet. He was still in civvies, and had chosen to wear exclusively brightly coloured socks for his civilian identity. Today he was sporting some old Harry Potter socks – Gryffindor and Ravenclaw houses, his and Tim’s, he realised somewhere in the back of his mind – and they felt weirdly out of place. “Yeah. I don’t – Bart and Cassie. They’ll freak out.” 

Tim nodded. “Yeah, they probably will. But I won’t tell them, if you want.”

Conner sniffed again, and nodded. Fuck, he hated how sniffly he always got whilst crying. “Please don’t.”

Tim nodded again, and hesitated. He rested his head on Conner’s shoulder gently, and then he relaxed slightly. “I won’t. I understand.”

And Kon… he thanked whatever kind of god he could think of for Tim. 

…

_He was back in Hawaii. He was in Hawaii, and he was laying down on the sand, the ocean swishing gently in the distance, the sun warming his skin. He felt safe, at peace, like he was home._

_But Hawaii, as much as he loved the place, wasn’t home. He sat up slowly, and saw that Tim was next to him. Lying next to him, looking pale against the golden sand, the sun making his blue eyes sparkle, his hair black against the warm colours._

_“Look who’s finally awake.” He joked. He was in shorts and a soft shirt that might be one he occasionally wore to sleep, and he looked comfortable._

_“Oh, did I fall asleep on you?” Conner asked, feeling a little breathless. Tim laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and that did weird things to Conner’s heart. But it was okay, because he was with Tim. And… Conner realised with a small jolt. It wasn’t Hawaii that was home._

_It was Tim._

_Then, Tim pushed himself up on his elbows, grabbed Conner’s jaw, and kissed him. Tim was a very good kisser, and Conner felt his head spin as Tim laughed good-naturedly at him when he pulled away._

_“Can – can you do that again?” Conner asked, feeling like all his breath had been stolen from him. Tim smirked at him, the way he did when he was trying not to laugh at a dumb joke._

_“Why, of course I can.” He said, pulling him in. But just as their lips were about to touch, Tim froze. He shuddered, and then he coughed, and suddenly Conner had Tim’s blood on his mouth and Tim was in his arms, coughing and wheezing as blood poured from his mouth and stained his teeth and why was he smiling? Why was he smiling up at Conner as bloody tears streaked down his face and cradling the side of Conner’s face and **looking** at him like that?_

_Why was he looking at him like he loved him?_

Kon woke up in a cold sweat. Tim – Tim, he was dying – there was blood – 

Wait. No, no… that… that was a dream. A nightmare. Again.

He didn’t scream, or yell, or jump out of bed. He laid there, looked up at the ceiling as the sunrise began to paint his bedroom soft golds and pinks. His heart was beating in his chest, far too loudly. 

He turned the memory of the dream over in his mind. Hawaii, Tim, Tim _dying…_ No. Push that thought from your mind, Conner. You already know you can’t live without him.

He bit his lip, and tried to regulate his breathing. Why did his anxiety always go straight for his lungs and not, like, his heart or something? Okay, what was something else that’d happened in the dream? It wasn’t leaving his head yet, and he was pretty sure he dreamt about – 

Tim kissing him. 

That felt like a stone had dropped from somewhere in his mind, and settled in his chest. It was cold, and sharp, and slightly painful. How was he going to look Tim in the eyes again?

Oh God. He dreamt that Tim had kissed him. And as he was thinking about it again, he felt his heart beat get heavier, and little butterflies swirl around his stomach and fly up to his chest and settle somewhere in his throat. He… he dreamt…

And why wasn’t he _weirded out by it?_ Why was he feeling all…? Why was he just feeling anxious about how he’d act around Tim and _not_ anxious about how he apparently wanted to subconsciously make out with hi – 

Oh.

Oh God. Oh, dear sweet heavens above, Rao, Wonder Woman’s extended family, literally _any deity ever_ , he – he liked – 

He liked his best friend. He liked _Tim._

For once, he didn’t feel the anxiety start to roll. He felt no fear creep up his spine and his stomach was twisting in a good way. He liked Tim. He liked one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, Robin, _Red_ Robin, and… it was kind of completely expected. 

Conner realised with a jolt that these – these weren’t new feelings. He liked Tim, and he had for a _while._

Kon pressed his hands to his face and groaned. “I. Am. A. Fucking. Idiot.” He murmured to himself. It was so _obvious,_ now that he thought about it. 

And… well, Tim had always been pretty. How did he not _realise_ – 

There was a sudden thumping sound, and a whine from outside his door. Ah, Krypto. He was whining to be let out. 

Conner stretched, rolled out of bed, caught himself by flying before he hit the floor, and floated over to his drawers whilst yawning. And all he could think about was how it was lucky he was in Smallville at not at Mount Justice, because seeing Tim after just figuring out his feelings… that’d be disastrous.

He made a silent promise that he wouldn’t let his feelings change anything. That’d just make it awkward for everyone.

…

Conner nearly didn’t keep his promise. 

He’d been on edge all day. Another nightmare, that’d woken him up at two in the goddamn morning, and had left him too spooked to try and sleep again, until he attempted for a nap on the media room couch, in the hope that sleeping where his friends could easily reach him would keep away nightmares.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

So now he was antsy. He didn’t want to be alone, but Tim was working on something and he would ignore Conner – which was better, in a way. Being alone with Tim could definitely make his heart do weird things that Tim would probably be able to pick up on with his freaky Bat skills and he _really_ didn’t want to have _that_ conversation yet – and Bart and Cassie were out again. It was like they were _trying_ to get Tim and Conner left alone together as much as possible. He wondered briefly if they knew about his crush, before deciding that they couldn't have figured it out. Right?

Maybe Conner should go and see Tim. He’d work himself to the brink of death if no one stopped him. 

Conner floated over to the kitchen. Tim had been looking after Kon a lot lately, and he felt like he should repay the favour. Tim was very good at looking after other people, but terrible at looking after himself. He could probably use some extra food, soften some of the sharpness in his face. Sure, the sharpness of his cheekbones (Conner swore he could cut his hand if he slapped him. If he wasn’t, y’know, invulnerable to everything) made him look hot, but the thought of Tim just looking all soft and healthy…

Kon let out a little happy sigh at the thought. He was whipped, but honestly, who could blame him? Tim was gorgeous. 

Conner opened the fridge, and started pulling out the egg carton. Thanks to Ma Kent, he’d gotten pretty good at cooking. He could now make a pretty legendary fried egg sandwich, that Tim had yet to try, so why not start now?

Conner hummed happily to himself, feeling some of his earlier anxiety fade away as he deliberated over whether or not to include bacon. Doing stuff whilst he was anxious tended to help, he mentioned that fact to Jon once, and the kid had gotten him a few puzzles, like Rubik’s cubes, and they did help. It was nice, of Jon for doing that for him, and nice to have something to distract himself.

Kon decided that, yes, he’d include bacon, because it was delicious, and Tim deserved delicious things, when he shut the fridge door, and turned to face the rest of the kitchen, and nearly dropped the frozen food he was holding.

Tim was splayed out on the kitchen floor, completely unconscious, hand soaked with cold coffee as his fingers rested on the broken pieces of his mug scattered along the floor. His head was resting on its side, and his eyes were still wide open, staring at the wall blankly. 

Fear gripped Kon’s heart, and squeezed. Tim… Tim looked dead. He looked like he was dead. He – oh god, was he dead!? 

As gently as he could, Conner put the frozen food down, and kneeled down next to Tim’s form. He needed to keep his cool, he needed to be chill. Tim – Tim couldn’t be dead. He – he – he, _fuck,_ he couldn’t be. He had family, he had friends, he – he had Conner. 

Kon held his hand under Tim’s nose, and tried to focus on if he could feel breath. He couldn’t – his hand wouldn’t stay still long enough, and he couldn’t tell if the air dancing over his skin was his, Tim’s, or his TTK acting up. Okay, okay, Don’t freak out, Conner. Think. Heartbeats, heartbeats could tell you if someone was still alive – Conner could hear heartbeats if he focused. So, he needed to fucking _focus_ and ignore the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. 

He tried to even out his breathing, and send his hearing out. But – but all he could think of was how lifeless and pale Tim looked, how fucking frail and fragile he was compared to Kon, or Cassie, or hell, even Bart – he – he didn’t – he wasn’t _invincible._ He had scars, all over his body, from bullets, knives, baseball bats, broken glass, bricks – so much could hurt him. And Conner couldn’t always be there to save him.

Tim groaned. Conner tried to ignore the sudden sound and get a hold of himsel – _wa_ _it Tim fucking groaned_. 

Conner froze as Tim’s eyelids fluttered open, and his pupils were strangely dilatated, he was looking at Kon like he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on – which was a weird, new, and fucking scary look on Tim. Tim reached out, and let out another low groan. 

“Wha’s goin’ on…?” Tim slurred, putting his hand on the floor and starting to try and lift himself up. Kon immediately noticed the strain and shake in his arms, so he did the gentlemanly thing, and slipped his arms under Tim’s torso and carefully propped him up so he was sitting with his back against the counter. Tim’s head lolled back, and made a dull ‘thunk’ on the counter’s wooden cupboards. But what made Conner’s stomach turn was the thin, red, slightly sticky trail that spilled down the side of Tim’s face and stuck to his neck. 

Hesitantly, Kon reached out and brushed Tim’s hair away from his face. He had a cut on the side of his temple, a bruise forming around it. It was still bleeding, but slowly and sluggishly. Tim made a small whimper as Conner’s fingers brushed against it slightly, and that made his heart jump into his throat and coat his mouth with a coppery taste of fear. 

“M’ head hurts, Kon…” Tim mumbled. 

Conner had a theory about what happened, but he needed to check something with Tim before he came to that conclusion. 

“Hey, Tim, Timmy, do you remember what happened?” he asked quietly, not wanting to hurt Tim’s ears. He didn’t seem in his right mind, and he kept squinting at Kon like the bright lights in the kitchen were hurting his eyes.

Tim blinked at him, and then chewed on his lower lip. “Mm… didn’t sleep. Workin’. Think I went to get coffee… woke up on the ground. Prolly hit m’ head.” He suddenly grinned at Conner, which was a little scary because his eyes were still kind of uneven, and a little sweet because he didn’t often just… _smile_ like that. 

“You’re, like, really pretty.” He said, and no, Conner wasn’t hallucinating. He had – Tim had – he _genuinely said_ – 

Conner wanted to scream. The guy he liked just told him he thought he was pretty, but he couldn’t do anything _about_ that because said guy had most likely hit his head on something after passing out from exhaustion, and now had a concussion and needed to be looked after. 

“Thanks.” Conner murmured, before sitting on the floor next to Tim, and trying to remember what to do when someone had a concussion. You were supposed to let them rest, but not go to sleep. At least not for a while. But there was that cut on his head…

Kon nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft weight land on his shoulder, just missing the spikes of his jacket. He looked down, and saw Tim, beautiful, _stupid_ Tim, who had dried blood sticking to his face and his hair all messed up and slightly matted on one side from laying on it and having blood and coffee dry in it, and dark purple circles under his eyes, and was looking up at him with so much fondness and awe, and there was almost a kind of _reverence_ in his expression and Kon, really, _really_ did not know how to handle that – 

He was the most beautiful thing Conner had ever seen. 

“Don’ worry…” he said, quietly, hand reaching over his body to pet at Conner’s chest. “Jus’ a concuss – con… you know what I mean.” His hand went higher, and was now awkwardly patting at Conner’s jaw. “Had loads before – don’ worry your pretty head about it.” He said with a slight giggle. 

Kon swallowed down whatever words he had before he ruined this nice – if vaguely disturbing – moment. “Uh, okay. I’m not worrying. Let’s – let’s get that cut cleaned up, alright?”

Tim nodded silently, and let Conner scoop him up into his arms, and made him sit down at the kitchen table. He rested his forehead on the table as Conner zipped around the headquarters, looking for the basic medical supplies. Google said that apparently, you weren’t allowed to give concussion victims too strong of painkillers for some reason, so he stuck to Tylenol. 

He came back, and dumped his small armful on the other side of the table, and came back over to Tim, who was groaning again. 

“Hey Timmy, it’s me again.” He said quietly, gently poking his shoulder. Tim slowly raised his head from the table, and gave Conner another wide, delirious smile. 

“Hey pretty boy.” He said, letting Kon push him back gently so he was kind of sitting up properly, and then he even let Conner turn his face and try his best to dab at the cut with a wet rag. It had properly stopped bleeding now, but it still looked painful and was crusted in dry blood, which couldn’t have been comfortable.

“What’s with you and calling me pretty?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going as he used his TTK to make the stubbornest of the dried blood come off. If Tim could carry a conversation, it meant he was okay. Ish. Okay-ish enough to the point where he could stay at Mount Justice and Conner wouldn’t have to take him on a harrowing flight across most of America to transport him back to Gotham. 

Tim frowned at him for a moment, as if he were trying to figure out why Conner was suddenly pouring him a glass of water and setting two white pills out on the table. “It’s ‘cause you are?” he stated, like it was obvious. “You… you’re very pretty. Pretty eyes, pretty hair,” he said reaching out to pet at it awkwardly, looking half asleep. Conner let him, stooping down uncomfortably. “pretty face, pretty eyes…”

“You said my eyes twice.” He reminded Tim, trying to not implode. Tim thought he was pretty, Tim thought he was pretty, _Tim thought he was pretty_ – 

“They’re jus’ that pretty.” Tim said, grabbing the Tylenol on the table, and shoving the pills in his mouth. He made a gagging sound, and Kon held up a glass to his mouth, which he took and promptly drank the entirety of, a little spilling down the corner of his mouth. Conner reached over absent-mindedly to brush it away with his thumb – and found Tim’s hands suddenly holding the side of his face. 

“Hate when they’re behind the glasses. Can’t see ‘em.” Tim told him, looking about as serious as a concussed guy with blood streaked down the side of his face could look. 

“…I’ll wear my shades less, then.” He said quietly. Tim nodded sagely, and let go of Kon’s face, and he couldn’t decide if that was good or not. He used the opportunity to take a large band-aid, and press it against Tim’s cut. It wasn’t big enough for stitches, but he couldn’t exactly leave it and hope for the best. He grabbed the rag from earlier, and started gently sponging at Tim’s face with it. He wanted to be gentle, as gentle as possible. He’d been reminded of Tim’s very real mortality a little too much in the past hour or so. 

“No, you won’t.” Tim stated, his voice getting a little less slurred now, which was good, right? “You get scared with… without them.” He said, a yawn punctuating the end of his sentence. 

Kon’s hands paused for a moment, before restarting. Now was _not_ the time to stop and think about how Tim noticed that, and remembered it. 

“Don’ like seeing you scared.” Tim said, another yawn forcing his jaw open so wide that Conner took his hands off his face and watch in mild horror as Tim’s jaw clicked before he closed his mouth. It was like watching a snake eat a cow. Terrifying. “You – you’re not meant to be scared.”

Ah. Right. Kon shoved down the sudden, slight bitterness that rose in his throat at that, and got back to work cleaning Tim’s face. “What, because Superboy doesn’t get scared?”

Tim shook his head as best he could with Conner holding onto it. “Nah, you’re ‘llowed to be scared. I just wan’ you to be happy, love.” Tim said, raising his hand to rub at his other eye blearily. 

The bitterness dissolved as quickly as it had shown. There was… a _lot_ to unpack there. Tim didn’t like seeing him anxious because he wanted Conner to be happy, he accidentally used that British endearment which would always be the sweetest and cutest thing on Earth to Kon, and he thought Conner was pretty. 

Okay. He did _not_ have time to unpack all of that, but he’d surely be wide awake that night, replaying the entirety of the conversation on a loop until he passed out. 

He swallowed, his throat scratchy and dry. “I – uh, okay.”

Hours later, with his face pressed into his pillow and his mind reeling, Conner couldn’t help but wonder if Tim meant any of it at all, or if he was just confused from the concussion. 

…

Conner was getting… well, not better, with his anxiety. The attacks still happened, they still sucked, and he was still constantly plagued with nightmares. But he was getting better with asking for help. Bart didn’t always know what exactly to do once he was in the throes of it, but he was excellent at keeping them away. Cassie was good for when he was truly freaking out and breaking things, because she was close to him in strength and could hold him down until he managed to calm himself down. But Tim… well, Tim was still the best to handle anything related to Conner’s anxiety.

It was ridiculous, how easily Tim could calm him down. The others joked about how Tim was secretly a meta, and his powers were soothing his fellow superpowered brethren. Kon would be tempted to believe them, if he didn’t know exactly why Tim could banish his anxiety like no one else. 

His crush was probably a bit more serious than he first realised. He was totally, completely, utterly, head over heels in love with Tim. He realised it a while ago, and he was surprisingly calm about it. 

The dream, the one about Tim coughing up blood onto him and dying in his arms, was becoming a fairly regular occurrence, and it still spooked Conner every single time. He’d mentioned it once to Jon, off-handedly – leaving out the part where Tim kissed him senseless, and in some versions kissed him when there was still blood in his mouth and _that_ was a goddamn image – and Jon hand wrinkled his nose and said ‘it sounds like you’re in love with him’. 

And Conner sat there at the kitchen table, halfway through stitching a new patch onto his jacket – a little star with a lightening bolt through it, a gift he got for helping someone out when he didn’t have to – and he thought about it. And he agreed with his younger brother, it did sound like he was in love with Tim.

He realised, slowly, that’s because he was. 

And… that should scare him, right? He got antsy when he didn’t have his sunglasses, his gloves, or his jacket. He got anxious when he woke up and the room was dark, he got _unreasonably_ terrified whenever he saw something vaguely related to medical supplies. But being in love with his best friend? 

Yeah, didn’t even unnerve him. 

Plus, there was a small, miniscule, absolutely infinitesimal, chance that Tim might sort of like him back, a little bit. He’d held him by the face and called him pretty, and said he hated seeing Conner upset, and called him cute nicknames, and wanted to spend time with him, and did Conner forget the part where he called him _pretty?_

He had to at least cling on to that. Tim might like him back. _Might_. 

That was what Kon was thinking about when he flew over Gotham. Tim had asked for his help on a case, which was a weird thing to ask of _Conner_ of all people. He wasn’t stupid – well, Tim insisted that he wasn’t – but he was hardly the best detective Tim knew. And Tim knew Batman. On account of being his adopted son, sure, but every single one of Tim’s family members was probably a better detective than Kon. 

Regardless, he still flew over to Tim’s window instead of the front door, and knocked at it a few times before Tim pulled back his curtains, and opened the window.

Conner flew in, and was immediately greeted by Tim grabbing him by the wrist, and tugging him down to eye level, and pressing a finger to his lips. “Okay, you need to listen to me very, very closely. Understand?”

Kon, dumb-struck, nodded. Tim’s eyes were… they were very blue. “Uh, yeah, I get it – what’s going on?”

Tim grabbed the sides of his face, and brought him close, like he was… no. Don’t get your hopes up, Kent. 

“Look, I’m fairly sure there’s someone trying to hack the Manor’s security. Bruce is in Japan so he can’t vouch for me, and Dick says I’m being paranoid. But I’m _not,_ Kon, I swear.” Tim insisted, talking fast and low. 

Conner nodded, trying to focus on something that wasn’t Tim’s eyes, because he was pretty sure that if he stared into his eyes when he was like this, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing Tim silly. But his mouth was just as distracting… “Right, got it. Why am I here?” 

“Because I’m convinced someone is messing with the cameras outside my room. I’ve left the door open, and I asked Dick to check the footage. This is a test to see if he can actually see it.” Tim explained, and was Tim looking at Conner’s mouth? He was looking at Conner’s mouth. Why was he looking at his mouth!? Not that he was mad about it or anything, but your crush staring at your mouth could mean a lot of different things –

“I’m going to kiss you now. Okay?” Tim said and… 

Conner’s brain kind of. Broke? Yeah, his brain was definitely broken. Because Tim just asked him if he could kiss him and all Conner could do was nod dumbly and oh good _lord_ Tim had soft lips. And… and he was a good kisser. He was a much better kisser than in Conner’s dreams. He was opening his mouth and biting at Conner’s bottom lip and holy _fuck,_ what could Conner do? _Not_ kiss him back? 

He was almost waiting for the full body shiver, and the taste of Tim’s blood in his mouth. But it never came. Instead he had Tim’s hands curled in his jacket and his tongue in his mouth and he was dead, right? He was dead and this had to be heaven. He _had_ to be, because Tim made this surprised but happy noise when Conner slid his one hand into his hair and the other resting on his hip and –

Tim was pulling away, and looking at his door with great suspicion. He was still holding onto Conner’s jacket, he realised with his hazy brain. Holy fuck, Tim had kissed him. And he was _good._ And Tim had kissed him like he _wanted_ to and it wasn’t – it wasn’t… it wasn’t some complicated ploy related to his brother and the security cameras and… what was even happening, again?

“Hm, called it.” Tim said. “If Dick was genuinely able to see the security feed, he’d yell loud enough for you to hear it in the damn Batcave at that.” He looked back to Kon, suddenly shy, his face a gentle pink. “Uh… sorry, about that. I know that was probably really out of the blue but I had to think of something to prove my point, or the paranoia would drive me mad –” he was rambling and blushing and Jesus fucking Christ Conner was in love. 

“Can – can you do that again?” Conner asked, well aware that his face was definitely bright red. Tim froze, and looked back up at him. 

“You’re – you’re not mad?” Tim said, his voice all quiet and amazed and oh dear god that was adorable. 

Okay, no problem. He had literally one chance to be smooth, and not mess this up. He could do this; he could _do_ this. 

“Why – why would I be mad? The guy I like just made out with me!” he said, not even fighting the wide grin on his face. Tim’s eyes widened, and then he was smiling and – was he being seductive on _purpose?_ That’s it, Conner had died, this was heaven, and he didn’t give a damn. 

Actually, no. This was clearly hell, because Tim clearly the devil, and asking for his soul in that smile. 

He could have it. He didn’t even need to ask, because Conner was pretty damn sure he gave it to him years ago.

Tim surged up to meet him, and Conner could barely kiss him properly because of his grin. 

(And if they only broke apart once Dick walked past, saying “Hey, Tim, I watched the security footage like you asked and I didn’t – WHAT THE _FUCK!?”,_ then that was just their little secret.)

**Author's Note:**

> … this was meant to be short. Why is it 9k  
> I had fun writing this! Which probably isn't what you should say whilst writing something sad - but I did. I'm probably gonna do some more hurt/comfort stuff in the future because it's always very tender, and I am a sucker for that shit.
> 
> Also, hey, third fanfic ever!! And it's these two again, who would've guessed.
> 
> The title is taken from 'Peach (Lobotomy)' by Waterparks!!


End file.
